When a night is cool and smooth,
No lights embarrassing the dark,
And silken sleep has come to soothe
The last thing wanted – sudden bark.
Sharp noises are a wound to sleep;
They tear apart its tender flesh.
Soft pillows out of down will keep
The peaceful dream-flow swift and fresh.
But stab a noise into peace,
And all the sleeping sheep will flee,
And all the pleasant dreams will cease
As silence breaks like pottery.
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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.
The Bard on the Hill 
Wow, Dennis, I’d applaud out loud if you could hear me. The word choices and imagery here are excellent.
Thanks for the applause from your keyboard. 🙂 I especially like some of my poems that end with a somewhat perfect line.